


12 days

by alicialeila



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Angst, But mostly angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Character Study, Fluff, M/M, Mikoto's POV, Relationship Study, Season 1 moments from Mikoto's POV, canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 11:18:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14236149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicialeila/pseuds/alicialeila
Summary: Mikoto lived 12 days without Totsuka.Day one: Mikoto watched Totsuka burn.





	12 days

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone is out there in Mikototsu hell, hello! I hope you enjoy this.

1.

 

Mikoto watched Totsuka burn.

The coffin lay on the sand, waves crashing roughly in the background, fire tinting everything with a faint orange glow. The darkness of the night was giving way to the soft morning light. It was a picturesque sight suited for Totsuka’s camera.

Mikoto’s hands ached with heat, with the knowledge that those were his flames swallowing Totsuka. He clenched his fists.

He had always known this was how it would go. No matter how many times Totsuka had insisted Mikoto’s powers were for good, to protect, and that his flames would never hurt him, Mikoto had known, deep down, it would end just like this.

No blood, no bones, no ash.

He turned his back to the image of Totsuka’s coffin being consumed, of the guys gathered in mourning. He looked down. Anna was watching him silently, as she always did. She was searching for something. He gave her head a gentle pat and walked away from the wreckage.

Fire was burning under his skin. There was no longer any need to keep it buried. He’d need it for what was to come.

 

 

2.

 

The atmosphere in bar HOMRA was uncharacteristically silent. As Mikoto sat on the couch, smoking a cigarette, he heard the faint chatter of Kusanagi talking on the phone, probably with that woman from Scepter 4.

The guys of Homura sat hunched over their phones and computers, tapping away, no doubt messaging their various contacts in Shizume City.  
  
A war council, Yata had called it. “Don’t worry, Mikoto-san,” he had said with his usual spirit. “We’re gonna get justice for Totsuka-san.”

_What a noble way to put it,_ Mikoto had thought.

Every once in a while they’d murmur to each other in low voices and glance at Mikoto. They were probably waiting for some kind of order from him. He watched them in silence.

They all seemed a little out of focus, a little far away. He was tired, but hadn’t been able to sleep yet. Perhaps because he couldn’t stop thinking about how Totsuka had lain on his bed, eyes closed and so, so still.

He looked down at the lighter he held in his hand. He flicked it open and closed, over and over.

He heard someone call his name. He looked up passively, slowly.

Kusanagi was talking to him, face etched with concern and exhaustion.

But Mikoto had nothing to say.

Someone would tell him who killed Totsuka. Mikoto would find them and he would kill them, no matter what.  
  
That’s all there was.

 

 

3.

 

Mikoto’s fist crashed against the man’s jaw. The man whimpered pathetically, face already bruised and swollen. He was saying something, crying out desperately, but Mikoto didn’t care enough to listen.

Mikoto clenched his fist tightly, calling his flames to his fingertips. Distantly, he saw the fear in the man’s eyes. He felt nothing. 

As he was about to swing his arm with all his strength, he heard someone call his name. He ignored it, delivering a harsh blow. The man cried out in pain. 

“Mikoto!”  
  
Ah. Kusanagi.

Kusanagi grabbed his arm roughly, pulling him away from the man. “He doesn’t know anything,” Kusanagi said. “None of these people do.”

Mikoto looked around the warehouse they’d raided on a tip from one of the guys’ contacts. The boys of Homura were staring at him with bloodlust-fuelled awe; the men of the opposing gang watched him in horror. 

Mikoto shook out of Kusanagi’s hold. He walked away, blood still boiling. He needed to destroy something. Kusanagi still called after him, and so he let his flames loose for good measure. He left a trail of scorched ground and crumbled walls behind him.

“Mikoto!”  
  
Kusanagi ran after him. Mikoto didn’t slow his pace, but Kusanagi caught up to him anyway and walked alongside him.

“I know you wanna find the guy who killed Totsuka. We all do,” he said. “But you gotta get a damn grip. Throwing useless punches won’t get you anywhere.”

Mikoto grunted. “Is that so?” he said, glancing at Kusanagi, utterly uninterested.

“Mikoto…” Kusanagi reached to place a hand on Mikoto’s arm, to stop him, but Mikoto jerked away.

“Whatever,” he said. He quickened his steps, leaving Kusanagi behind.

He needed a drink. Something strong.

 

 

4.

 

He was on fire.

He was on fire and he couldn’t stop it. The bottomless rage inside of him burned and burned and burned, no end in sight.

It was going to kill him.

He wanted to die.

A cool hand touched his back. He turned around.

Totsuka.

Totsuka was smiling up at him, but his smile wasn’t cheerful or kind or wry. He just looked sad.

He moved his hand to hold Mikoto’s cheek gently. He didn’t say anything. He just watched Mikoto.

Mikoto closed his eyes. He let Totsuka’s touch wash over him, let himself get lost in the wave of calmness that came just from Totsuka’s presence. He breathed deeply as the fire within him was smothered, just for a little while.

“Totsuka,” he said.

“King.”

Mikoto felt the tenderness of that voice in his bones, in his blood. He tried to hold onto the sound.

Totsuka dropped his hand, and Mikoto mourned the loss.

He wanted to reach out, to get it back. He took a step forward, leaving no space between them. He lifted a hand. “Totsuka,” he said again. “I--”

He jerked awake.

His sweat had soaked through his shirt, leaved a damp patch on the couch. He glanced at the clock and groaned. He’d barely been asleep an hour.

He got up from the couch and made his way to the bathroom. He looked at his reflection in the mirror for a moment, just long enough to notice the black under his eyes and the red of Totsuka’s earring. He got into the shower and stayed under the cold water, forehead pressed against the tiles, until he was numb.

Before making his way down the stairs, he peered into Anna’s tiny room. She slept soundly in her bed, but Mikoto knew better than anyone the deceptiveness of Anna’s stillness.

Once downstairs, he sat on the couch and pulled out a cigarette. Taking a drag, he willed himself to calm down, focusing on the darkness and quiet of the early morning. He glanced down, and something on the opposite couch caught his eye. Totsuka’s blanket. It sat on the couch, the couch where Totsuka took his afternoon naps. Nobody had dared to move it. 

Pieces of Totsuka were scattered everywhere, from his guitar sitting in the corner to the stupid bonsai tree sitting atop the bar.

Mikoto’s fist clenched at his side. He laid his head back and closed his eyes. 

Maybe he could get a few more hours of sleep.

  

 

5.

 

“What should we do, Mikoto?” Kusanagi asked, voice sly. They stood on the second floor of the hotel in Shizume City, watching as Scepter 4 entered the main floor below them.

“Burn them.” 

It’s what he wanted to do, more than anything, as he looked down at the Blues. They stood in perfect formation, hands on their swords. Munakata was at the center of them, wearing that annoying smug face of his.

Homura’s excitement was palpable, the guys all thirsty for a fight. Yata’s voice rang out as he cheered. They all got into their own positions with feral smiles.

Mikoto let himself release his power for a few moments and it felt so good. He watched his flames devour the whole room, felt the ground shake from the force of it. But then his fire crashed into a wall of blue power. He grinned. He released another burst, for the hell of it, before he reined it in.

Munakata approached him. “In compliance with Protocol 120, I am taking you into custody. Any objections?”  
  
Mikoto chuckled. “Unfortunately, I have none.” He held out his hands to be cuffed. “Please take good care of me,” he said, the insolence of his tone a taunt for Munakata.

Munakata eyed him skeptically, and Mikoto thought he even heard him scoff. But he secured Mikoto in the handcuffs, and signalled to his men to make their exit.

Mikoto heard murmurs of confusion behind him; Homura, no doubt, was lost right now. After all, it looked pretty bad for the Red King to give himself up to the Blues. When he glanced back, he only saw understanding in Kusanagi’s eyes, though he couldn’t be sure if he really got Mikoto’s true intent. He might’ve just been hoping for Mikoto to stay safe.

For now, this was the only course of action that would ensure Mikoto would live long enough to find the bastard and get his revenge.

Kusanagi would take care of them all now, just as he would when Mikoto was gone for good.

 

 

6.

 

Mikoto woke to the feeling of his head being smashed into the concrete wall.

“Well, look who’s here,” he said, as Munakata glared at him.

“Suoh, let me get straight to the point,” Munakata said, deadly serious. “Your Weismann level is pushing its limit. If the Sword of Damocles should fall, we’ll have a repeat of the Kagutsu crater. If you insist on drawing more power from the Dresden Slates, I’ll have to kill you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mikoto said, as if he didn’t dream of such destruction more often than not.

“I’m telling you to renounce your thrown.” Munakata pressed in close, face only inches from Mikoto’s.

He met Munakata's glare. “You’re just a stick in the mud, aren’t you, Munakata?” Mikoto chuckled.

“If that’s your answer, I’ll have to come up with a way to keep you locked up for life,” he replied.

“Actually, there is one way to keep me locked up here forever. You could do it, Munakata,” Mikoto said. Munakata looked unimpressed. “The Blue King can keep an eye on me personally,” he continued. “24 hours a day, inside this cell. If I become violent, you can restrain me by force.” Mikoto’s voice was taunting, but it was less of a veiled threat than a reminder: _I’ll break out of here eventually._

“The thought of having to breathe the same air as you makes me ill,” Munakata said evenly. “And besides, I’m afraid I’m quite busy. I can’t spend all my time with you.” _I know you will_ , was Munakata’s answer.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Munakata,” he said. He shifted to his side, back to Munakata, and feigned sleep.

“Yeah. Me, too, Suoh,” Munakata said quietly before leaving the cell.

Mikoto lay still, even after Munakata was gone. Maybe if he pretended to sleep the entire time he was here, he wouldn’t have to have any more of these stupid conversations. Maybe he’d actually be able to sleep here.

He opened his eyes.

_“Renounce your thrown_. _”_

The irony was not lost on him. The idea of him fighting so fiercely to keep his title of Red King was so ridiculous it made him want to laugh. How many times had he complained about never having asked to be king? About not wanting powers? About not needing anyone else to tie him down?

And here he was, clinging to it desperately. 

Only a king can kill another king. 

His body shook at the very idea of it. He shifted uncomfortably, suddenly too aware of how contained he was. He looked down at his bound hands. He knew Munakata wasn’t stupid enough to think that the shackle could hold him. He’d blast through it in less than a second. It was probably “protocol.”

Munakata really was a stick in the mud.

 

 

7.

 

_“Mikoto, don’t go.”_

He opened his eyes. It took a few moments for his vision to adjust and for him to realize that he was still in his damn cell at Scepter 4.

Breathing heavily, his hand clutched at his side, where he’d dreamt he was shot.

_Where Totsuka was shot._

He looked down at his hand. There was no blood, of course. His side ached anyways.

He clenched his fist, still imagining it burnt and blackened, as he had a million times before. He longed to let himself go enough to wreak that kind of destruction, now that the fear of destroying himself and other people was no longer a concern.

(And this was exactly when Totsuka would come in, grab his hand, say a few kind words, and things would be okay for a little while. _There’s nothing to be afraid of._   _Your powers are not meant for destruction. They exist to protect.)_

Mikoto was done trying to protect.

He closed his eyes and saw Anna’s face from his dream. She’d looked distraught, arms wrapped around herself as if she was trying not to fall apart. He wondered if he had conjured her image himself or if she was really trying to reach him through his dreams. It wouldn’t be the first time.

He should be feeling guilty, probably. The brat didn’t deserve to have to say goodbye to someone else. But his mind had been made up seven days ago when the only thing keeping him in control had been ripped away and revenge became the only thing worth staying for.

 

 

8.

 

The next night, he dreamt that he was in HOMRA. Everything was in black and white, devoid of any color. But then he turned and Anna was sitting beside him on the couch, as she often did, staring up at him wordlessly, eyes wide. He could see the red of her dress, her hat. He wondered if this was how she saw the world every day.

“Oi,” Mikoto said. “Are you real?”

Anna blinked at him, as if to judge him for even having to ask that question.

He nodded. “You shouldn’t be here.” His mind was too scary of a place right now, even for Anna.

“Mikoto’s sad,” Anna said. “And angry. But it’s not Mikoto’s fault.”

“Shut up,” he said, without any heat. He needed to stop being so surprised at what Anna knew. He wasn’t exactly expressive, but sometimes he forgot that their connection gave Anna a glimpse into his mind.

“Tatara knew. Tatara wanted to stay with Mikoto.” 

He exhaled harshly.

“The first time I met Tatara, I looked at him and I knew. I felt it, that he would die if he stayed with Mikoto.”  
  
His hands curled into fists, aching with fire. 

“But he wanted to stay with Mikoto,” she said.

“That idiot,” Mikoto said quietly.

Anna’s tiny hand gripped his sleeve. She clung to him, and opened her mouth to say something else, but HOMRA faded from his mind abruptly as a clattering noise shook him from his sleep. 

He sat up to search out the source of the noise.

A pair of unfamiliar grey eyes stared at him through the opening of his cell door.

“What do you want?” Mikoto grumbled.

“Third King, Mikoto Suoh,” the Blue said, too seriously. “Munakata-san wants to know if you have anything to say to him.”

“Yeah,” Mikoto said. “You can tell him I said to kiss my ass.”  
  
The Blue sighed and muttered something under his breath before shutting the window and walking away. Mikoto chuckled, satisfied at having broken the Blue’s composure, at least a little. Nobody at Scepter 4 should have been surprised by his rude comments or his apathy. He hadn’t offered them anything else since he’d arrived. 

He sighed deeply. What little patience he’d ever had was at its limit.

He wondered what the guys of Homura were doing and if they’d made any progress. He knew that they wouldn’t do anything without him there. 

He throbbed with power that needed release, and it only grew stronger every minute he was cooped up in this place.

He wanted it to be over.

 

  

9.

 

When he blinked awake, it was once again to the drab walls of his cell in Scepter 4. He rubbed his face. He was used to not sleeping well, but these past days were something else entirely. His dreams had been disturbing, to say the least.

As his drowsiness dissipated and his senses returned to him, Mikoto felt a familiar presence standing outside his cell. He could feel the foreign power radiating in the distance, the sensation of another king in proximity.

“Gonna stand out there all day, Munakata?” he drawled. He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

The door opened and Munakata appeared in front of him, expression halfway between serious and sour, as usual.

“Finally coming to keep me company?”

“Have you seen reason yet, Suoh?” Munakata asked. “This stupidity can end and you can return to your clansmen.”

Mikoto stared at him indifferently.

Munakata tsked. “I’ve always hated your temper, Suoh. It’s not fit for a king. You may be willing to risk your own safety. But what about the city? Your men? Kushina Anna? All for a fallen clansmen?”

Mikoto grunted. _A clansman, huh?_

Totsuka, who had crashed into his life with his light and love as a bright-eyed 15-year-old and called him “King” before he had any reason to.

Totsuka, who had taken Mikoto’s hand in his without hesitation or fear.

Totsuka, who had wanted nothing more than to build a home with Mikoto and Kusanagi, and had welcomed everyone else into that home.

Totsuka, who had dedicated his life to convincing Mikoto that he wasn’t the monster he knew he was.

Totsuka, who had loved Mikoto so unconditionally that Mikoto couldn’t think about it for more than a second, because it threatened to squeeze the air from his lungs. 

Mikoto wouldn’t expect someone like Munakata to understand that. The role of king may have been a burden to Mikoto, a weight tying him down, but it was a job to Munakata, a set of rules and regulations.

As if losing Totsuka was _losing a clansman_.

Turning his attention back to the present, he felt Munakata’s stare. 

“You were talking in your sleep,” Munakata said. “You called his name. Totsuka Tatara.”

Mikoto refused to meet his gaze.

“And what do you think he’d say if he were here, seeing you like this?”

Mikoto chuckled. Whether Munakata had meant that as a guilt trip or taunt or attempt to reason with him, it fell flat.

Totsuka was dead.

He couldn’t say anything.

And that meant that nobody could stop what was to come.

Mikoto rolled over, his back facing Munakata.

Munakata sighed. “Suoh…”

The silence lingered until Munakata left the room and his steps echoed down the hallway.

 

 

10.

 

Mikoto stared at the dirty dishes he’d left on the floor by the door of his cell. He didn’t consider himself a particularly sentimental person, but for some reason, one moment with Totsuka from years ago, long buried in a sea of moments, kept replaying in his mind.

He’d found Totsuka in the kitchen, in the midst of dirty bowls and pots and pans piled on the counter. Totsuka had been singing to himself, and so he hadn’t heard Mikoto approach right away. Mikoto took a moment just to watch him. He was mixing something furiously, wearing that damn purple sweater that had grown loose around the collar from being worn so often.

Perhaps sensing Mikoto’s gaze, Totsuka turned around. He flashed him a bright smile. “King! Good morning,” he said. “Or good afternoon, I guess.”  
  
Mikoto eyed the mess and Totsuka chuckled.

“Don’t worry,” Totsuka said. “I’ll have the mess cleaned up before Kusanagi-san gets back.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Mikoto asked, exasperated. 

“I’m testing out different cupcake recipes for Anna-chan,” Totsuka explained. He gestured to a batch cooling on the counter. “This is the only batch that’s turned out so far.” 

“She doesn’t need all this,” Mikoto said. He didn’t know anything about kids, but Anna seemed pretty low maintenance. 

“I know she doesn’t need it,” Totsuka replied. “But she deserves a treat, doesn’t she?” His smile was gentle and warm, and Mikoto could see the affection in his eyes, even though Anna hadn’t been staying with them for very long. It was the kind of affection Totsuka had for all the boys who had joined Homura, but a little softer.

The alarm on the oven beeped.

“The next batch is ready!” Totsuka exclaimed. “Will you try it for me, King?”

“Why don’t you ask Kamomoto?” Mikoto sighed.

“He won’t be here till later! Please, King? They’re nice and fresh from the oven. They just need to cool for a few minutes.”

Mikoto frowned, but he did as he was told and leaned against the counter, waiting for the cupcakes to cool. He watched Totsuka take the batch out of the oven and put a new batch in. Totsuka looked at the time on his phone and grimaced. “I guess I should get started on the cleaning,” he chuckled.

He gathered all the dirty dishes to one pile and got started on the washing. “You could help me,” he pouted.  
  
Mikoto grunted. “You already gave me a job.” Totsuka fixed him with a glare and Mikoto couldn’t help but chuckle. 

After a few minutes, Totsuka walked over to the cooling cupcakes. He grabbed one and presented it to Mikoto with a smile. Mikoto accepted it a little skeptically.

“I haven’t put any frosting on it yet,” Totsuka said. “I need to mix the red icing still. Is that okay with you, King?” His smile was sly, knowing that Mikoto couldn’t care less.

Mikoto considered the cupcake for a beat before shoving it into his mouth.

Totsuka blinked. “King!” he scolded. “How are you supposed to taste it like that?”

Mikoto shrugged. “It’s fine,” he said, voice muffled by his chewing.

Totsuka laughed, loud and genuine, and then rubbed his face with the arm of his sweater. When he pulled away, he had a streak of flour on his cheekbone. Mikoto’s eyes were drawn to it.

“What?” Totsuka asked.

Mikoto clicked his tongue. He reached out, slowly, to wipe off the flour with his thumb. Totsuka watched him, eyes wide, as Mikoto allowed the touch to linger. The moment slowed, and Totsuka’s lips parted. Mikoto looked down at those lips, and, not for the first time, considered how easy it would be to lean down, close the space between him and Totsuka, and kiss them.

When Mikoto dropped his hand, Totsuka was still watching him, cheeks flushed pink. Mikoto’s stomach flipped at the sigh; Totsuka didn’t embarrass very often.

“King…” Totsuka said softly. He rested a hand on Mikoto’s forearm, and Mikoto felt the touch everywhere.

The intimacy of the moment was dissolved by a ringing phone and the sound of someone entering HOMRA, calling out a “Yo!” Totsuka went back to his cleaning and Mikoto went back to his brooding, and it was just another moment that Mikoto would carry with him forever.

Now, trapped in his cell at Scepter 4, replaying the last week over and over again in his mind, dreaming about it, he couldn’t help but wonder.

He used to kind of regret it, missing that chance. But where would he be now, if he’d allowed himself to cross that line with Totsuka?

He couldn’t imagine a rage that burned hotter than the one inside him.

How much more sharply, more deeply, could pain run?

 

 

11.

 

It had been so long since he’d felt so free.

First, he’d burst through the shackles around his hands. Then he’d set free everything inside him; his flames shattered windows and smashed through doors and walls and tore the tiles from the floor. He walked through fire and smoke until finally, finally, he was free of that damn building.

Outside, he was surrounded by Blues. The woman, Awashima, was saying something to him, and then she drew her sword. But her words and power alike bounced off of him, and he released a surge of power that knocked the Blues back. He smiled at the pleasure of being able to go all-out. He walked away from Scepter 4, leaving nothing but destruction behind him.

He saw Anna and Kusanagi and the rest of Homura in the distance, waiting for him. Sometimes his connection with Anna was pretty useful.

As he approached them, they all greeted him with a smile. Anna ran up to him and clutched his hand in hers. She looked up at him and the concern was clear on her normally expressionless face.

“You finally found your target?” Kusanagi asked.

The guys all watched him silently, waiting for their orders. 

“He’s at the school on the island,” Mikoto said, power thrumming inside him at the very idea of finding the bastard. “Let’s go.” He walked away without even glancing back at the group of Blues that were watching them intently.

Anna held his hand as they walked, staying close to him. Mikoto felt the weight of her gaze. He could sense her turmoil, that she was struggling with something, but remained silent. There was nothing he could say. If she knew what was to come, which he assumed she did, there was nothing he could say to make her feel better about it. 

He’d already chosen his fate.

 

 

12.

 

Mikoto stood amidst the rubble, the dust and smoke. Electricity shot through him, aftershocks of the overwhelming power he’d just released from his body.

He exhaled slowly, deeply. When was the last time he’d breathed?

He remembered Munakata was there with him.  
  
“Sorry for making you do the dirty work,” he said, with a kindness in his voice that Munakata had probably never heard before. But there was no fight left in Mikoto now; when he looked at Munakata, he didn’t feel angry or irritated. He was just grateful. He felt himself smile, just a little.

“Don’t give me that garbage with such a peaceful look on your face.” Munakata was looking at him like he’d never been more offended in his life.

Mikoto could only smile. That’s what he was feeling right now, wasn’t it?  
  
Peace.

“If you really feel that way,” Munakata continued, “wasn’t there something you could’ve done before this happened?” 

Mikoto tried to ignore the desperation in Munakata’s voice. He closed his eyes. “You’ve said enough, Munakata.”  
  
He opened his arms.

It was finally time.  
  
He looked up. His Sword of Damocles floated above him. It was a cracked and rusted thing, only held together by the red sparks of power that crackled through it. As he’d been told a million times before, it was a direct image of Mikoto’s own state.

His sword fell.

He felt Munakata’s sword rip through him and it was a welcome relief. He was overcome by a sense of calm as he tried to make sense of the pain. He clung to Munakata, hoping that somehow his message would get through.

“I’m sorry, Anna. I won’t be able to show you that beautiful red anymore…”

When he closed his eyes, he saw Totsuka’s butterflies. They used to tease Totsuka about those butterflies, about how useless his little trick was in the grand scheme of things. But now, Mikoto couldn’t help but think that they were the only beautiful things his power had ever created.

He imagined Totsuka’s smiling face. 

Maybe he’d be waiting for Mikoto on the other side.

 

 

 


End file.
